


The Beauty of Scar Tissue

by Mnemos9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Panic Attacks, Safe for Booky, Schmoop, but also just plain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnemos9/pseuds/Mnemos9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today of all days, Cas is loosing the battle against a particularly stubborn lid that refuses to budge.</p><p>Or the one where Cas cuts his nails too short.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beauty of Scar Tissue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bookkbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookkbaby/gifts).



> This is for [Booky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookkbaby/), who was having a rough day <3

“Ow.”

It’s ridiculous. Absolutely, absurdly, agonizingly _ridiculous_ how much this hurts.

“ _Ow_.” Cas can’t decide where to level his withering gaze.

On one hand, the new jar of peanut butter seems to be sealed with wards the likes of which no creature in existence can lift.

He twists again in vein, huffing as he frowns down at the too-pink flesh on the tip of his right index finger.

“Curse,” he pants. “Valentine– _nngh_!–Fogerty!” The first person to patent modern nail-clippers. Their design has been largely unchanged since 1875 and there’s still no safeguard in the event that one should cut their nails too closely to the skin.

Sweating–he’s actually sweating now.

Cas eyes the jar as if it’s a living creature capable of feeling the scorn he’s directing at it.

 _Think smarter, not harder, Cas_. Sam’s advice from another struggle with surprisingly resilient containers.

The logical part of his brain supplies that there’s a manual can opener in the drawer next to the fridge that will end this _crap_ (as Dean would say) immediately.

Of course, Dean’s just as much to blame as the late Mr. Fogerty for Cas’ current handicap.

_“Don’t get me wrong,” Dean smirked up at him while glancing down to unbutton his shirt. “I enjoy gettin’ my back raked up as much as the next guy.”_

_“Strokes my ego in all sorts of ways,” He winked but Cas had been more focused on Dean’s involuntary grimace as he carefully shrugged his over shirt off. “But it’s kinda hard to–“ he hissed “–do my job when you’ve clawed this much skin off.”_

_Cas had tried to apologize, only to have Dean neutralize it expertly with a placating kiss._

_“S’ok, Tiger.” Dean grinned, brushing the side of Cas’ nose with the tip of his. “Just sayin’ that I think we’ve got at least one pair of nail clippers around here…maybe.” his brows drew together in thought as he side-stepped Cas, pulling him along out into the hallway._

_“Hey, Sammy! You still have that emergency manicure kit to cheer you up on all those bad hair days?”_

Cas regards the can opener like a particularly fine double-edged sword.

Again, he thinks about the twinge in Dean’s expression as his measured movements had tugged on the tender, healing scrapes along his back. Again, he calculates the decreased reaction time of raising a gun, wielding a knife, landing a punch due to the inconvenience. Again, he thinks about the likelihood of something getting the fatal, _final_ drop on Dean because of _his_ impulsive mistake.

Cas remembers the increasing staccato of his heartbeat, the trembling in his hands, the bite of the clippers snagging on skin as the growing dread had eclipsed his customary precision with the small tool.

This is _stupid_.

He may be just another human now, extremely limited in the scope of their capabilities, but that doesn’t mean that he has to rely on another tool to open a _damn_ jar of peanut butter!

Castiel doesn’t hear his name being called, doesn’t feel the vibration of rushing steps behind him. He just knows that one moment, the uncalloused side of his fingers are scraping over the hard plastic ridges of the lid and the next–the entire jar is missing from his traitorous hands.

“Hey,” he knows that voice. “ _Hey_.” He knows those hands cupping his wet cheeks. “Babe, what’s…?”

He blinks and realizes that Dean is right there, searching Cas’ face with noticeable panic glittering in his eyes–and oh…oh he put that there _again_ –

“Ssssssh, it’s ok.” Dean’s embracing him, nestling his chin on Cas’ shoulder. “It’s ok, _I swear_ it’s ok, sweetheart.”

He’s rigid–may as well be made of stone–but for the life of him, Cas just can’t lean into that comfort. He doesn’t even see the kitchen anymore. All he can see is what his mistakes keep costing his real family, what they’ll continue to cost him right up until the end.

“Cas…” Dean’s pitch is climbing–why can’t he just sink into those warm, loving arms?

He’s just making it…he’s just making _everything_ –

A tending hand comes up to the back of his neck, smoothing the hair at his nape down, stroking the tension away. Dean starts to hum; Cas can feel it undulating against his locked muscles like waves breaking over the sand. Can feel the melodic timbre urging his entire being out of hysteria’s petrifying vice grip.

“I couldn’t get it open because I cut my nails too short.” The words stumble and trip over each other in a haste to leave his lungs as they remember to draw breath.

Chuckling weakly into his ear, Dean presses a row of lingering kisses down his jaw. “Told you it’s not a race.”

“You run victory laps around the room when you’ve finished cutting them all before Sam.”

“Yeah and I keep telling you not to take any cues from me when I’m being that childish.” When he laughs, the tension that infected Dean drains from him as he slowly releases his grip. Times like this, it’s as if he’s anxious that Cas will fly away.

Not that he needs to fear that anymore.

“I…” Cas can’t quite bring himself to meet Dean’s eyes. Doesn’t want to see the worry _he put there_. “I’m s–”

Apparently, Dean’s having none of it. His lips effectively halt the apology and his tongue sweeps it from Cas’ own. How long they stand there, with drying tears making Cas’ face itch while an impervious tub of peanut butter presses uncomfortably into both their ribcages is anyone’s guess.

When they break off, Dean starts rummaging through his pockets, smiling at him like he’s just won the lottery. “Hey, whaddya know?” He retrieves a small, unopened bandage, waving it in front of Cas like a prize.

“That’s lucky.” His voice cracks appallingly as a smile slowly begins to crack apart his worrisome mask.

“Sure is.” Dean winks, peeling the bandage from its’ translucent sheath. “My level of preparedness puts all boy scouts to shame.”

He takes Cas’ finger like it’s made of dampened paper that could rip at the slightest touch. It isn’t a comment on his perceived fragility, he knows that now. Dean raises his affected digit to his mouth in what can only be described as sheer reverence and presses a quick kiss to the raw skin there.

“You know, you’re _not_ supposed to do that,” Cas’ smile deepens. “It spreads even more germs…” he trails off as Dean glances up from the bandage he’s securing snugly around it.

“Yeah, well,” A blush creeps up his neck. “Power of love and all that.” Dean murmurs, unable to completely stifle his shy grin.

By now, the paralyzing effects of the panic attack are beginning to lift like fog lifting in the sun’s rays. It’s an appropriate comparison, Cas notes as Dean’s gaze flickers down to that cursed container as if he’s only now realizing what it is.

A pink slip of tongue darts out and Dean catches it between his teeth, considering the peanut butter as if it holds all the secrets of the universe.

“Here,” he extends the jar and can opener to Cas. “Why doncha make us some sandwiches while I go search for the Netflix password?”

Whatever’s left of Cas’ anxiety evaporates as he nods, reaching out to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. He concentrates on the pulse of blood rushing under his grasp, on inhaling oxygen he wasn’t aware of even needing. Dean leans in, resting their foreheads together as he offers his own breath up to him. Metaphorically speaking of course–and Cas marvels briefly at all the poetry humanity has invented to color moments such as these.

Just as reluctantly as Dean did earlier, Cas releases his beloved. In parting, Dean shoots an undeniably _lovestruck_ look over his shoulder.

He knows _exactly_ where the scrap of paper is with the password scrawled on it is tucked away; he knows that Cas has the password memorized. Dean is also impressively adept at opening almost any lid, valve, or knob he’s ever come across.

Cas eyes the can opener with weary trepidation.

Dean also knows that Cas needs these little things. _Wants_ to conquer these little commonplace tests nearly as much as he wants Dean beside him every single day. _Needs_ to use them to uproot the broken programming that insists that _he's_ the one who's broken. Everyday is an opportunity to rewrite himself into the person he can be. The person he's  _meant_ to be.

Not for the first time, Cas lets the revelation of just how truly blessed his existence has become wash over him. Understanding is something he knows a lot of earthly relationships sorely lack. Something he knows theirs’ is overabundant in.

Humming _Whole Lotta Love_ under his breath, he clamps the tool around the lid and begins to twist. Almost instantly, he can feel the give until it’s slipping off with comedic ease. As Cas spreads the contents over a slice of bread, he smudges some of the peanut butter over his bandaged finger.

Grinning down at the beautifully imperfect sight, Cas allows the profound sense of peace to smooth over the ragged edges of his fears.

**Author's Note:**

> My fascination with Cas encountering really silly hindrances is utterly insatiable.
> 
> Did this fic aggravate any peanut allergies? CAN THEY BE INFLAMED VIRUTALLY?! I just have a thing about jars of peanut butter D; I think they're as adorable as they are infuriating!!
> 
> Y'all can come sling some of that 'butter at me on [tumblr](http://mnemos9.tumblr.com/)! Glob, now I can't stop imagining all these really creative ways to harm someone with peanut butter-oh em gee it's not even a real word anymore-BUT IT'S ONLY CUZ I HAVE TO PREPARE FOR THE INEVITABLE!!
> 
> *cough* Love you as always, now stay out while I go contract Tony Stark to build me a suit specially designed to negate that deathly 'butter and beg Cas to bless it against peanutty wrath... >_______________>


End file.
